Veneno Nosotros
by marineblau
Summary: She waits and hides under the bloodstream of his power. He exposes and drains what solely belongs to him. Both walk unknowing on the road he built with his own hands, one that leads to destruction. She is venom and so is he. Slight hints of BDSM.
1. one: wait

_**one; **_

_**wait—**_ _**to remain temporarily neglected or unrealized**_

—

How long? Time passes by and here I remain untouched, without further utility, yearning the day I don't fuss my mind thinking about the days that die along with my memories, blacked out thoughts of retaliation. No light, not a single scratch of pretty gloss. The seconds marvel and ease the mind, the minutes extended handsomely through hourglass. Just as if day and night no longer shared differences but ashamed embraced similitude. I remained there, thinking of him and his madness, loneliness and sadness. One of those days when he decided to see no one, not even me, bores thought to count that much, especially deep inside this couloir.

I try to keep up the pace of time. Perhaps a day passed by? Who knows? Maybe a month went by already. Yet my sole purpose is to wait, as I was commanded. So, I wait and when no more waiting is required, I shall still wait.

I wait to just heed those steps setting path back to me. That constant barrage of enraged step after step, the abrading of the shoes, the soles that warn of his imminent entrance to stage. The hammering intensifies, I dream myself.

My body engulfs desire, yet appeases and redeems the command I carry, so my mind swats the thought immediately. I want him to look at me, absorb me, become me, enroll in the game of being one body, the hole system hot to feel the calamitous touch of his every single pillar of hair rising searching and gasping.

I want his necking or his punishment, his insults or praising, I no longer care.

I just want him all and by that I must give it all.

And then I start thinking things, as my knees get cold. What would happen if there is someone suited for him other than me? What if I am not suited for him at all? What if million questions? I just know that it isn't a simple game. No feeble mind should enter a field such as. One must be or not committed to it. One must espouse it, make a living from it and attain to the consequences.

Such thoughts are poison. We just have one defined direction, he for me and I for him. That simple it is. We are summited to build up dogmas that rule our living. Finally one cannot be forced into it, the need has to be in thought throughout forever. One must not fault and reject the motion. There is never a half point, for us who burden the minks of it shall for ever give everything and ask for everything in return.

As I recall I never once doubted of myself. It all depends of how things settle and give poor importance to partialities and beginnings.

I admit it, blinding me was not the pristine of all his wonderland ideas. Although chaining me is something as new as every dripped droplet of air I breathe. He fears of the day I leave, fears the most the feeling of being completely alone in his misery. But I'm here infinitely at his disposal, nevertheless. It might just be that pricking thought. It is a childish behavior, but I scandalize not. I much rather feel gratified, don't disavow, I feel loved. I am his most ambitious, beautiful and perfected possession.

I think of him so much, my appetite of minding myself is devoured, not proud not even deteriorated. It is not the only thing that forces my heart to bleed the flesh. However I reason logic to believe it. Hard at first, but with faith it is impossible not to accomplish such a precarious task. I am not a poor thing, he does not look at it so, correction he does not look at me like so. No, he sees beyond the eye's superficial insight, he merges the nude meaning of emptiness everyone attains since birth. He then gets into action taming the person he is interested upon. Showing him/her not the right but randomly the wrong within, that is just about how I was tamed by his scourge of congruency and eloquence.

A bitter sense of moral that bisects the grudge everyone feels at some point in their lives against us. He showed me that much. Bestowed upon me blessings of a life I must live beside him, honored and proud far beyond common sense, he never gave meaning to common sense anyhow, he appreciated resolution by perspective and turned thought ever to bareness whatsoever.

Notwithstanding his problems are that of the world he had forged. His steel back blending millimeter at a time, of all people who bare grudge against themselves he outstands the most depressed affair. Still he has the time to take pride in his actions, and what is more he owns the time to turn and face me with his irradiant smile, he takes away all the pain, fear, sadness and sorrow. He snuffs it and eats it. He sooner or later will decay of decomposition. Toxicity that his mind fights everyday will soon make the better of him, the worst.

This I know much.

It takes just a glance at your beloved to note something is not even near alright, but a total shit storm. But even if knowing it, I'll be there, everlasting wish of his thought and spitted out of his lips. My mind is fixed ever since.

The first time I vindicated and saw how damaged he was. Even he is beyond repair, I just need to try and go along with nothing, until our minds collide and our statues cease to shake and finish becoming light dust again, only until then I will prove myself the best love for him, I swore my pledged word to him, and his to me, I endlessly know that forever is not so long, know how this will end.

Another day goes by. Reason and logic fighting to the death, I severely observe it as an overlap of throbbing emotions that yet have not found the strongest.

Promises you the stars, tells you you're loved, swears it, desires you, dominates you, makes you, just then when you feel that you are nearing temptation and demise, you plunge pressed against his side, dropped over your doss, he's above you, he suspends you.

You are his truth, both people inside the other; randomly you became the source of redemption. You had the privilege to be more than he is, so that all his existence, his substance, feelings or so are dependent. Such abject fact makes him weak, may he be no one if not with you, may both yourselves as if you deserved to complete each other. He has just to learn he is himself only beside you and none elsewhere.

And here we meet again; in this undersized piece of shit you call bed, where thousands of times you heard him howl your name harmoniously synched by symphony of your voice reaching notes that wither with his, periodically before reaching a cloning climax. You furl from the pillows as you are stabbed hard below. His force is overwhelming so you seek everywhere, something to where you can cling to this life.

What is so special for you to realize a melting point as you procure his name? Once in a life time diversification of ideas is a must. Don't provoke unwanted or unwilling feelings just about now. You will see him one of these days, it is as certain as the stars above during the day. Sooner than a dream, you will once again impact your lips against his. In the joint black ops of fruition you both will get the better of both, but not now, not yet, no way, no how.


	2. two impatience

_**two;**_

_**impatience—**_ _**a restless desire for change and excitement**_

—

Said this, by the time spell, you no longer require my assistance, without further ado we are off. I'm but a mere shadow that nudes at your peeling eyes.

One more that wishes to kiss the path you walked by.

Say nothing more, wake up, it is getting late. I hear them. I can hear them. No one else owns that gasp between steps. It is rude, cloudy, large, long and vibrant, it's him. He walks boisterous the floor, vigorously. The heel comes in first then the sole echoing through stone and mist and wood. Suggests the erect virtuous vista of a sapiens, yet humanly comes the pain of time and aging, lowers the head tenses the strips of muscle of his neck, a bit. Nonetheless walking just as if is a crime on his behalf. Such demeanor is envied by the god, perhaps. His above perfection for me, even against the real and correct sense of nothing is perfect in this world, still his world is me and vice versa.

I can really star to image him, well dressed, as usual. A darker than black suit covers him toes all the way to neck. I believe him wearing those lustrous pantaloons, way below his shoes and carbonized shoelaces, shock to believe if he wears either red or blue, near drop dead gorgeous combination.

He's almost here. I can sense his heavy cologne—I'm sincere, I never liked—it follows the crack of the opened door and his neckerchief cleaning somewhere his face, he does that every time he sees me lay still in bed.

He's here. I sense him inside the room; he brings an earthy air with him.

I found myself imaging the seizures my body suffers trying to brace for him, but I remain stiff, as ordered. I let myself wonder the way he left me here. I blend my legs and let my full weight die over my thighs; curl my feet and my fingers of the hands at my sides. Dynamics and physics enter roll play, fairly.

May I be blinded, but deaf I am not. I can feel the reddish warm light of outside seducing my flesh. He is swift, don't recall the time when he approached this close to me, his breathing crashing my nose and lips, as it tickles it gets me drunk and I know my eyesight becomes blurry although I am unable to see, somehow I just feel it.

Matters not if I can't see him, he is no longer in absence of me. What is he waiting for? What's his next move? Silence murdered the noise that came from outside, presently I feel deaf indeed. His green glare hell not picking up my maroon eyes, all because of this blindfold, I see.

Time folds, twice, thrice, four times or five times, six. My hearing cutting off any strange noise, even the faintest, I hear then blood being pumped. His heart or my heart… which one it is?

By the time he had reached the end of the bed and sat down. I force myself to suppress the angst to reach him, trembling I remain as unnoticed as I can, so hard. I hear the air condense around his mouth as if he was about to speak, resolution, that it the least of importance. I want to launch myself to him, tackle him and force him to do me, I want him to eat me and not to savor me, and I am a dish best served cold. I grow impatient, not sure if my desire of him will trick my mind.


End file.
